Steel Tides
by Khilai
Summary: In all her years of knowing the alchemist, she had never seen such a disheartened expression on his face, nor one of such utter defeat and raw anguish. Rating subject to change at any time, minor spoilers from earlier episodes.
1. Fragility Behind the Cold Steel

Those words might as well have been daggers, laced with the icy bitterness of twisted deception and overpowering doubts, for the damage they inflicted was more than enough to kill. For all Edward knew, years had passed in the time he had stood there, absolutely stunned, confused, and even so much as heartbroken. Reality, sick as it could be, decided the events were not happening fast enough, and urged Alphonse to keep throwing out those knives.

"Isn't that it?! What you wanted to tell me... All my memories, my whole life.. it's _fake!_" The emptiness behind the echo of a child's voice within the armor was so fitting for the occasion that it was borderline _disgusting_.

It was difficult for the smaller alchemist to even conjure words, articulate himself well enough to do more than stare in absolute astonishment. It was not just that the statement was so completely false that it was astounding and insane that Alphonse would even reach such a conclusion, but more that he actually believed Ed had the capacity to be so heartless.

In a sense, this said a lot about Edward, himself, and just proved he had been right in being afraid. It was completely possible - probable, even - that Al still had ill feelings about their accident. Hatred, even. In what felt like another ten years of time slipping between his fingers, Ed finally spoke.

"No, that's n-"

"Shut up, Nii-san! If that's even who you _are_... You must have been in on this together, you planned it!" The idle Winry was subject to Al's fury, now, and she could do nothing but shake her head.

Finally, unable to stand the suspense or bear the guilt constantly weighing on his conscience as it were, Edward lunged forward, only desperately praying - to a God he no longer believed in, no less - that such a brash and reckless action would reach his brother's attention long enough for someone to get through to the younger Elric. Winry's cries of protest became completely drowned out by the sudden contact of a hollow metal on soft flesh; there was a crash, a soft whimper, and then nothing.

The silence was so pure that it had to be _deafening_.

Alphonse had done something he never had before - something so completely wrong and malicious, more sinful than Edward's constant use of colorful language, and most importantly, something he had always promised to never do. Worst of all, he had done so without any second thought, and at the moment, not even the faintest trace of regret. He had struck and hurt his brother. There was no possible way to even deny or erase this truth, for the trail of blood spilling from Ed's mouth was proof enough.

"Al..?" The alchemist's voice was uncharacteristically timid and hushed, which was disturbing in itself.

Winry could not even gain the strength to do more than mouth the armor's name, for her mind was too preoccupied with a setting of years past. Had they not promised to always stay together? If they were all they had left, why was a quarrel of such intensity arising to the point a gentle boy would hurt an already wounded Edward? She knew all too well that Ed had not fabricated anything, and the fact that Al, someone who had known Ed all his life, did not see the same truth just completely overwhelmed her senses.

"D-don't come closer!" Al shouted as Ed slowly advanced forward a second time, "Get away from me!"

Nobody had the time to even react to the statement before Alphonse made the decision for them, turning aside and dashing off towards the balcony of the hospital; since he was not human, taking a fall from four stories was hardly a threat. This logic in mind, he wasted no time in jumping off, only leaving Edward to rush after him.

Had it not been for Winry, who had snapped from her daze long enough to realize she needed to keep Ed intact, the small alchemist would have followed Al and completely ignored the laws of physics and what they would have done to his small body.

- - -

"Yes, he went missing, ran away... a large suit of armor, that's right. About... six and a half feet, roughly? Eyes are just white, his helmet's got a feather dec-... yes, just keep him if you find him. His name is Alphonse Elric, he shouldn't be too much trouble for you, he's really a sweet person. Thank you."

The ancient, dirty receiver clicked loudly as the phone was placed back upon it, leaving a few flakes of rust to flutter off in its wake. Reluctantly, Winry turned back to the teenage boy that was once Edward. At the moment, nothing about him radiated the passionate determination the State Alchemist was known for, and therefore, it was all the more difficult to call him by that name. To her, that title meant sunlight, and there was nothing bright about this youth's face.

"Ed, nobod-" she stopped cold, deciding it best to change her approach, "Don't worry, we'll find him."

"Yeah," he responded simply. _'Damn right we will,'_ Ed thought to himself, keeping the blaze of the faint normality concealed. He was in no mood, no emotional condition to begin sustaining a constant resolve. "I just don't know how... I thought maybe by now, I'd just _know_, he's so... usually so easy to figure out, I don't understand wh-"

"Sometimes you'll never get the answers if you don't ask the questions," Winry spoke softly, still trying to quell the persistant depression that seemed to plague Edward. The image of a younger Ed, stricken with fever and bedridden during a difficult automail surgery, had never ceased to flash through her mind, and how he had begged Al not to hate him had stuck with her forever. Never did she imagine, however, something like _this_ to come up.

"I'll remember that... C'mon, I don't wanna just sit here, he might b-"

"If we don't wait here, we won't know if someone else has found him. Ed, just fifteen more minutes, okay? He couldn't have gotten too far," It was difficult to be the mature voice of reason when, inwardly, she wanted just as much to dash off in search of Alphonse.

"... Fine," Edward replied, visage cast downward in expression of the reluctance. The otherwise ever-present desire to rebel was buried too deeply beneath layers of concern and fear - depression, even.

Even seven minutes were agonizing, it was hard to imagine being forced to wait any longer. The benches outside the hospital building were slowly shedding their paint in large chips, and were even indented slightly from too many people sitting upon them over the years. Edward had been listening carefully for any signs of Al, possessing only a childish hope that he may return on a whim, apologizing, voice breaking, and armored pieces shivering with remorse. That was all it was, though - a hope, a fantasy.

A petite nurse trotted nonchalantly out from the building, a coffee-stained clipboard bound between her chest and her left arm. Her expression was an even mixture between sympathetic and utterly blank, the latter of which worried the two teenagers more - after all, people in the medical field had to have some skill in masking their emotions before breaking any kind of news. Winry had seen her parents do it enough times in the past, so she had even stronger suspicion that Ed would have.

"Phone call for Winry Rockbell and Edward Elric? It's Jean Havoc," she uttered simply, offering only a small instance of a smile.

"Ed, do you want to-"

"No. If he puts Al on the line, he's not gonna wanna talk to me... I can't do that to 'im. I just wanna know where the hell he _is._.." Inside, Edward was mentally slapping himself for refusing the opportunity altogether. Of _course_ he wanted to talk to his brother, hear his voice, and have some semblence of a feeling that Al was still beside him. Fear had dominated too much, however.

Winry would not question his line of thinking, even if she did not agree with it nor condone it in the least; yet, Ed was old enough to make his own decisions, and if he honestly believed this was the best course of action, then so be it. She had no intent of crossing the fragile breaking point and upsetting the young alchemist more than he already was. Holding back her own fears and relief with the same near-emotionless mask the nurse had worn, the blonde started towards the entrance to take the phone call.

"Hello? It's Winry," She fought to keep the anxiety out of her voice, though the girl failed to notice her fingertips were still playing with the folds in her skirt in her nervousness, "Thanks for returning the call."

"Hey, Winry. Man, I don't even know how to do this stuff right... Ah," There was certainly something that was off about his tone, almost as if his nervous demeanor paralleled Winry's at the moment. Chances were, he was debating over possible pickup lines in his head and was merely buying himself time.

"Uh, so... Any news? On Al?"

"... Yeah. That's kinda the _trouble_ here." Apparently, courting and dating someone of the opposite gender was not the first thing on his mind that was provoking this kind of behavior. Anyone that knew the man closely knew this was extremely abnormal - Winry was not one of those people. The only thing that remotely caught her attention on the issue was the fact he had mentioned trouble regarding her friend, and everything else mattered not.

"_What_ trouble? What's going on?"

Her voice had rang unintentionally sharp, but she was not about to waste time in going back to apologize. Little did she know, Edward had followed her in - curiousity had gotten the best of him, and his preoccupation certainly had not helped fight off his temptations. His expression faltered instantly, and he could not help but regret ever entering the hospital building.

"Well, we sent out a search party when you called over and all, but they didn't really turn up anything until about half an hour ago. We just got the message. 'Parently, they did find a suit of armor, some kind of feather or fluff or something, but... Ah, damn. Sorry, but..."

The only response was an anxious silence and a small but audible gasp; therefore, Havoc regretfully continued. Why had they set him up to do these kind of odd jobs? Again, he believed he was not paid nearly enough for his services.

"... it was apparently busted up pretty bad. Unresponsive, didn't have the 'white eyes' Al always did, but... From what they could tell, the blood seal was destroyed-"

"So he's _DEAD_?! B-but he was only gone an hour at the most! How co-... H-how am I going to tell this to Edw-!" She turned, and much to her surprise, and dismay, two golden eyes stared back at her - two golden eyes that were impossibly wide and brimming with tears.

In all her years of knowing the alchemist, she had never seen such a disheartened expression on his face, nor one of such utter defeat and raw anguish.

And in all her years of knowing _anyone_, she had never heard a person scream quite as loudly or break quite as badly as Edward Elric had.

_Will only be continued depending on the responses, since this can stand alone without any continuation. _

_Because I don't want to continue something that's BAD. D:_


	2. Paradise Lost

The last time Winry remembered him being this incoherent was several years ago, and even then, Edward had been drugged and afflicted with a dangerously high fever. The alchemist lay crumpled on the floor, eyes widened and shaking to express the fluctuating levels of both fear and devastation, and the only other sounds in the room besides his shrieking and uncontrollable sobbing was that of Winry's failed words of consolation.

Edward's hair, already drenched and dulled in color from the persistant raining, did well in clinging to his face and sheltering the utterly lost and defeated expression painted so clearly over his features. None of those emotions should have been on the face of the Fullmetal Alchemist, - or at least, not in such plain sight - but at the same time, nothing else was suitable. The little brother that was his life, his sole supporter in everything he did, his constant companion, had been torn away from him.

The fact of the matter was, in keeping a secret from the one he cared for most in this world, in trying to shelter out of brotherly instinct, he had done more damage than anyone ever could. With all minor complications and details aside, the reality was, he had _killed_ Al.

_'Murder,' _the youth's mind echoed, pounding in his head in unison with his quickened heartbeat and hysterical sobs, _'That's a sin you can't make better with all the alchemy in the world.' _Around that time was when the heartwrenching reality struck him as badly as any of the hits he had received back at Laboratory Five -

_He was a murderer._

It was difficult for Winry to offer as much support as she would have liked when she, herself, was victim to her emotion and the constant flow of tears she did not even bother trying to prevent. Still, she gently stroked the once vibrant strands of hair in some attempt to be maternal, to be a friend, and to be _something_ more than an automail mechanic hundreds of miles away.

"No, no, n- don't, no, can't touch, can't feel, Al c-," he paused, a wave of shivers overtaking him, "AL! _My_ fault, Al, want Al, where-? _NOT gone, CAN'T be gone_.."

It was useless to try and dissuade the grieving alchemist from denial. Not only was it a normal step in the process, but it was something that she, too, was doing somewhere in the back of her mind.

"Maybe not, Ed, maybe his blood seal is still intact and he's just upset, giving the silent treatment...? He wouldn't have wanted to lash out at strangers, and... well, they don't know him like we do, right?" Maybe that disbelief was not quite as subtle as she had previously thought. There was no taking back what she had already said, however.

The emotions his eyes purveyed were almost close to hopeful. It was only a few thousand miles from the point of having faith, and that was certainly better than the suicidal and utterly shattered expression Ed had been wearing before. It only flickered, though, before the tide of despair consumed him and brought him back to the bitter reality that was the Central Hospital.

"You said, y-you said yourself," his hands trailed to his face, shakily brushing back strands of the hair only to have gravity pull them back over his eyes, "Damnit, you _said_, Al w-wa... Can't, don't know-"

Obviously he was not going to admit to the possibility of his brother actually being dead. In his mind, certainly, but to come out and blatantly say it seemed too strange and absolutely wrong. If there was actually something that could quell his anxiety, a chance that he could see his brother's form beside him, be it real or armored, then Edward had to put a trust in it - even if it was blind and childish.

"... W-we could check...? I'll go see-"

"No," Winry cut in, wiping away a trail of tears from her face, more soon manifesting to replace it, "No, let me go. It's raining out still, and... you know Al wouldn't want to see you crying, right? He's seen me cry before."

"I want to see him, damnit! I-" This time, Edward stopped himself, running over what she had said again. Alphonse probably would feel horrible if he actually had to see Ed crying - either that, or he would feel overjoyed to know he had hurt someone he 'hated' as much as Ed. In either case, the possibility was painful. "... O-okay, just fucking promise if - WHEN - you do find him... I want to hear his voice."

"You will, Ed. I'll head to the military headquarters and ask them to let me see it in person. They could have made a mistake, and as soon as I know for sure, I'll call you. Wait by the phone, okay?"

The only response the child prodigy could muster was a silent semblence of a nod.

- - -

The rain was incredibly loud against the fabric of the cheaply crafted umbrella, the only one she could really afford on such little pocket money. After all, Edward paying her for the repairs was the least of her worries at the moment, and she had never really thought to bring much more than enough to survive the trip here. Nevertheless, it was enough to suffice, and Winry was not about to turn around and beg a hysterical friend for payment. She had little patience, not little heart.

Dominating winds tore at the navy blue material sheltering her, pulling at the metallic structure holding it together and threatening to seperate the canopy from the base. It was only then that a brunette woman, probably middle-aged, slowly trotted in front of the struggling blonde and bowed.

"Excuse me, young lady. Would you like to come inside? It's a terrible night, and you must be tired," she offered, a sincere smile present upon her slightly wrinkled features. The offer was tempting, undoubtedly, but Winry had more important matters at hand, and they certainly did not pertain to herself.

"I'd love to, but I really need to go talk to military personnel," The blonde tried to fight off an oncoming shiver, failing quite miserably, "It's important."

"No, dear, I doubt they're going to let you in on a night like this... The storm is at it's worst a little east from here, there's a ton of accidents. My husband is a sergeant, and they haven't let him leave because of how busy it is."

Winry's face instantly faltered. Knowing the military and how they handled things, they would probably send her home with a conceited escort and tell her to check back tomorrow. Somewhere in their fabricated apologies, they would probably reassure her everything was all right, and promise her a day would make little difference. All of the officers were such bad liars - after all, she was best friends with one. She would know better than anyone.

"... I guess you're right," she muttered, half-heartedly stepping forward to indicate she would follow. Luckily, it was already raining, and the tears that streamed down her face looked no different than the rest of the water soaking her.

"Good. You look like you could use a warm cup of cocoa," The elder woman bowed again and turned towards an old home, moderate and generic. Despite the plain earthly color to the house, the few plants, and the dull welcome mat, the place did look inviting and warm. "My name's Heather."

"Winry Rockbell," the blonde teenager uttered mechanically, her voice breaking slightly as she wiped her feet on the worn mat, "I need to make a phone call. Something... really bad may have happened, and I was just headed to-.." She paused, then, realizing this stranger probably was not interested in a recap of Winry's life, "... I need to call someone."

"Of course, honey. There's a phone in here, make yourself at home."

- - -

If this were any normal occasion, Edward would have already been complaining about how uncomfortable hospital chairs were, how the doctors were twisted and sadistic in everything they did, and how distasteful some of the nurses were to have to expose so much of their skin. However, if this were any normal occasion, an oversized suit of armor would have been sitting in the seat next to him and assuring him it was not nearly as bad as Ed seemed to believe.

Now, the sharp ring of the telephone had been making him jump with anxiety, even when it was a message for someone else. Other than occasionally questioning if there had been a call placed for his name, Edward was disturbingly silent and submissive. Stray tendrils of hair shielded the remainder of tears that still brimmed about the colorless eyes, as the heavy crying had already passed - and even when he desperately needed to cry, he only had so many tears. His body was betraying him.

"Elric? Edward Elric? Isn't that you?" A small, timid nurse reached out and tapped his shoulder to catch his attention, "Miss Winry Rockbell is on the phone."

That was more than enough to make the previously lifeless alchemist rush from the safety of the cold chair to the telephone, and in the midst of his eagerness and nervousness, he did not even bother trying to hide his state of distress from his voice.

"Winry?! Winry, _please_ tell me that Al's-"

"I don't know... I couldn't make it to the headquarters. The weather's just too bad, someone stopped me. She said they're probably not going to be able to help me tonight."

Ed could have sworn his heart stopped. How could he not have heard the constant beating of heavy rainfall on the roof, the relentless thundering, or even the anguished wailing of the wind in the sullen atmosphere outside? Was he really _so_ far gone?

"Damnit! Then I'll g-"

"We talked about that, Ed... No. You can't. Please, just _listen_ to me for once?"

"I can't, I _CAN'T_, I don't know what to do..."

"Freaking out isn't the answer. Trust me, I'm really scared too. I'm hurt, afraid, everything that you are, but at least we're in this together."

His automail hand idly traced down to his stomach, where a cold, sick feeling had long since begun to arouse. It had grown more intense with the progression of time, and by now, it was certainly at its peak; he held back the vomit threatening to erupt as Winry continued.

"It's... really hard to accept, Ed... I might be making this trip for nothing, too... I don't know if I should have suggested it in the first place, I... What if it really is false hope? I'll feel like... a complete bitch," she stated rather bluntly, biting her lip.

Edward turned the phone away from himself, finally reaching the point in which he could no longer handle the oncoming pressures, the doubts, the fear, and most importantly, the insuperable guilt. Only when he was certain there was enough distance between him and the telephone did he regurgitate into a nearby waste receptacle.

He figured it was safe, since he had already lost all of the contents in his stomach long before this, and the vomit was relatively clean. Waving off a few concerned nurses, he placed the phone back to his ear. Winry was still talking, but it was obvious she was slowly breaking just as he was.

"-fair... Just, I'm sorry... I'm trying to be supportive, too, and handle this at the same time... But listen, I do need to go, I don't want this lady to see me sobbing anymore."

_'She'll ask anyway, everyone does... then you'll cry just the same, don't... don't get off the phone.'_ The youth could not bring himself to say it.

"Remember, there's still hope... Always, always hope, and most of all... Don't do anything Al wouldn't have wante-... _wouldn't want _you to do."

That was it. Anything Alphonse would not _want_ him to do? As far as he could tell, Al's last wishes had been-

_'Get away from me!'_

Without placing the phone back on the receiver or giving any indication of a goodbye, he found himself outside of the glass doorway before he was even conscious of himself moving at all. Head lowered, heart heavy, and spirit irrepairably broken, Edward disappeared into overpowering clutches of the malevolent storm - and with physical freedom came mental captivity.

_Equivalent exchange, no regrets._

A concerned voice on the other end of an abandoned phone line called out helplessly as two worlds severed at the seams, crying hopelessly for some kind of support that was never returned.

_".. Edward-?!"_

Her answer was nothing but a crash of lightning.

- - -

_Hopefully, still decent enough to continue. What do **you** think?_

**Flamingpaintbrush: **I always thought it was a pretty crucial point and could be taken a lot of ways, too. There's a lot you can do with bad situations to make them worse. D: Thanks for the review.

**Blue-demongirl: **Thank you! It's definitely not moving as fast as I thought it would, though. I only planned on four chapters at most, if I posted it at all. And, maybe, maybe not. You'll just have to see, right?

**Robear2007: **Thank you for the compliments and review!

**Pink Pagoda: **Thanks! I need to get off this low-self esteem, ugh. Sorry.

**S J Smith: **Yes, you're absolutely right. It's a flaw picked up from being in enough roleplay communities that pressure you to use as many big words as you can, and I really need to break it. I took up on your suggestion, and don't hesitate to tell me if a word just looks stupid where it is. Constructive criticism is always good! Thank you.

**Lilianna: **Thanks for the review, and, I'm sure a lot of people will be saying that by the end of this. (As if it's not hard to tell already.) I'm so mean to characters I love.


	3. Elemental Sway

The moon was barely visible through the clouds littering the dark sky, and the rainfall that had once provided a strong enough curtain to dim all starlight had long since faded to a mere sprinkle. Savage winds, however, had never once submitted to mercy, and thus continued beating against the temporary shelter Edward had taken. It was pathetic at best, nothing more than a few crates and bags of trash in an alleyway, but since it closed off the entrance, it was good enough. Besides, his welfare was the last thing he was worried about.

What was he supposed to do with two conflicting commands? On one hand, it had been established that if one of them had somehow passed, then the other would continue living and do whatever he could. On the other, Ed was supposed to get away. What that meant, exactly, he had not even begun to figure out, and the only thing he gained from trying was a splitting headache.

Pressing his head back against the stone wall, which was excessively adorned with soaked 'wanted' posters and expired notifications, Edward's attention shifted down to the pocket watch he had been fumbling with absentmindedly. Rainwater had collected in the dented designs, and subconsciously, he flipped it open to rid the surface of the liquids.

Eighteen hours had passed since the nurse had handed him the phone. Or, at least, he was _almost_ sure that was the watch said. This kind of thing would have been much simpler if the numbers were a little bigger, or if he was in the right mind, or perhaps just if his eyes were not so blurred with tears.

As far as hiding this visible display of emotion from potential onlookers, the former rainfall would have been a blessing. This, however, would be assuming he still cared of what others saw. Pride held little importance when the alchemist had just lost his little brother.

Whatever subtle hope there had been of it being otherwise, it had faded as soon as Winry began breaking over the phone line. In most things, Ed would have been headstrong, but this was too different, too wrong, and too bitter any way he looked at it. His brother hated him, what more was there to it? The most sensitive thread had been snapped.

_'What use do I have for this now?'_ the alchemist mused silently, absently trailing his fingers around the metal surface of the pocket watch, _'It's just... another pain-in-the-ass I don't need.'_

He knew it was more of a reminder than just a simple inconvenience, but that was more than he was willing to admit, even to himself. Even through the gloves he wore, the carvings were prominent. But this taste of reality was certainly not welcomed. He had no desire to associate with this god-forsaken thing. Or, perhaps it was more limited than that. Rather than association, maybe it was the simple touch and feel of this metal that was causing his stomach to do such nasty turns.

Therein lied the problem. If Al would never be allowed to feel, why should _he_? To him, there was no fairness in that, but at the same time, there was no way he could simply _eliminate_ his sense of touch - not one that did not involve self-mutilation, anyway. While he could name a thousand reasons why he deserved it, it held the possiblity of killing him, which went against his brother's former wishes. And, somewhere in his muddled mind, it clashed with Ed's own fading principles.

Edward was interpreting all of this too much, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he was perfectly aware of it. That portion of his mentality, however, had been buried so far beneath layers of devastation that, in spite of all his efforts, he could not reach it. To an extent, he had been known for being irrational, especially in the face of anger, but only once before had it dealt with the death of family. And it would be only once that it would regard the death of someone he was _this_ close to.

With a mother, he had managed to handle the pressure - but for the sake of his brother rather than himself. That alone had made all the difference in the world back then, but with the crucial factor missing, the entire principle crumbled at his feet like the trash beneath him.

The finely crafted pocket watch slipped from his fingers and onto the damaged cobblestone beneath him, clinking a short distance away from where Edward sat. It was there that it found a temporary home, for nobody reached over to retrieve it. Not then, and probably, not ever.

This distance was probably the most luck the alchemist had had in years, for only moments later, lightning seemed to crash directly onto the King's insignia etched on the metal watch. It was a small bolt, considering, but the fact remained that it _was_ electricity; thus, quickly fabricating and deflecting enough sparks to light the wooden crates nearby.

Dancing embers licked at the carelessly discarded trash, manifesting into a more brilliant flame and, sure enough, producing more smoke. The chaos was only slightly subdued by the weak dappling of raindrops, a cold inconvenience turned into a minor saving grace.

The alchemist stood utterly dumbfounded for a moment - which, to him, would seem like an eternity. While flames threatened to close in on him, consume him entirely, and erase him from existence before he would even be given the chance to beg, he could not help but wonder-

_How did everything get so bad in just __**one**__ day?_

It took but a second for Ed to mentally slap himself for ever questioning, even _venturing_ into that territory. Ultimately, _it wasn't the first time._

Edward made the final decision, then, in this judgmental moment, that it was best to forego the pocket watch. Even had circumstances been different, the outcome still would have ended with him abandoning the now-wretched binding tie to the state, but it may have been easier if it was not partially driven by an oncoming flurry of flames.

In the spur of the moment, automail and flesh came together in the customary initiation of alchemy, but before they would ever come in contact with a desired surface, it dawned on him that blocking himself off with earth walls between synthetic wall, fire, and rain, just may not be the best idea.

Instead, he went for something even more familiar to him than alchemy: reckless behavior. Since there was nothing else he could turn to, and nobody that would tell him, "don't rush into things, Brother," Edward had absolutely no regrets when running directly into a fire with nothing but the hope that Equivalent Exchange would put the odds in his favor.

The fire could only cut Ed so much mercy, however. Naturally, the sweltering flames almost instantly latched onto the scarlet coat worn, and slowly had begun to shift inward until they reached the automail arm that now provided such strong, unshakeable attraction. The same was true of embers that burned through the leather of his pants, which favored his prosthetic left leg over his right. As much as he possibly could, he used this to his advantage and raised the enflamedappendage up in defense, eventually pushing through most of the inferno.

Nothing came without cost, however; the fresh burns and the unsuccessfully hushed screams were proof of that. Meanwhile, the coat housed remnants of the fire, and had it not been for the sprinkle of water fighting against it, surely it would have engulfed the alchemist in a matter of moments. To keep it on would have been suicide nonetheless, and even a devastated Edward was not quite _that_ disoriented - not at the moment, anyway.

He discarded it in the street just as if it were nothing, because weighed in with the rest of his losses, it held no bearing.

In the moment he took to catch his breath, another wave of heat seared his backside, just below his neck. There was no doubt the crackling flames behind him were intent on following, but this was uncalled for. His first instinct would have been to smack the source with his automail, but since this had just been subjected to heat, - something he would not have even noticed if his automail port was not singing his chest - he thought better of it.

As expected, there was a flame consuming the messy edges of his unkempt braid, and all he could do to save the remains of it was smother the fire with his left hand. It salvaged about half of what it should have. Strands of once golden hair, now as blackened as the heavens above him, littered the ground where Edward once stood.

- - -

It had been a month, perhaps even a year or a century in Winry's mind. An old calender corrected her, and reality reassured her that it had only been a few days. This could only assuage her to a point, however, for more often than not, she found herself glancing out the window to the familiar field of monotony that was Resembool.

Everyone was doing their best, she knew, but never once did that give this any sense of justice. As soon as the storm silenced enough for safe travel, Havoc had done her a kindness in picking up and driving her the rest of the way to headquarters. In spite of his not-so-subtle complaining, the automail mechanic was thankful beyond words.

She had been greeted by a receptionist who, to her, was inappropriately cheerful. Preoccupied with more important matters, she had dismissed it, and headed directly for a conference room somewhere in a maze of dull hallways. It seemed she had already forgotten the dozens of faces of those she had to stop and bother for directions, because details like this, and the date of that day, even, would always be on a plane of insignificance in her mind.

The young girl only wished she had abandoned her hope before she had set foot in that hellhole. If anything, that would be one of her most immense regrets, for in that room, in the presence of but few military officials, had been a stray piece of metal elegantly placed in the middle of a dusty coffee table. That alone had instantly made her associate this meeting with devastation, but the true anguish came the moment she laid eyes on the blood-engraved seal marked on the dented metal surface.

Winry never even examined it, despite a strong instinct beckoning her to do so. Stunned and heartbroken more than she could voice at the time, she had turned away and buried her face in her hands, utterly determined to block out the sight of this sin-ridden pit. But ultimately, the memory would remain ever-prominent no matter how may have she tried to escape it.

"Our search party didn't recover very much, ma'am," a tall man had started, bowing his head. "We didn't have much to go on, but a suit of armor with a mark written in blood... this's what we turned up, pretty much."

Being relayed this information had certainly not helped the situation. Of _course_ that was what turned up, why had those people felt the need to _explain_ it to her?

"From what we can tell, there was some kind of explosion. There was artillery around, probably a rebel base. The area's got bad crowds. The lower half of the armor was completely obliterated, but the upper area seemed intact, and there was a helmet nearb-.. ma'am?"

The blonde had left the man there in that flash, in mid-sentence, without so much as a word of appreciation or acknowledgement. As far as the ride home went, she had forgotten it the majority of it. It had consisted of Havoc talking about something, probably words of comfort, and wishing her well as she sobbed uncontrollably.

When it seemed as if nothing could have possibly gotten worse, Winry had returned to a confused group of nurses, who regretfully informed her that Edward had fled the night before. She could have interrogated them, gathered details, or she could have exploded in a fit of hysterical rage, but instead, she crumpled to the floor and simply screamed. Apparently, it had been enough to awaken several patients.

Of course, she had alerted the military as soon as she was coherent enough to form a thought process, and again, someone had tried to provide some words of consolation as if this would have done her any good. Mechanically, she had given them any information that came to mind, thanked them for their assistance, and was forced to end it at that. Pinako insisted, even demanded that she come home, and such an occurrence had made Winry wish she had never called her grandmother afterwards.

In the end, she would apparently come to understand that she had done all she could, that taking any other course of action would have been irrational, and that it was best not to get involved in such a horrid condition. However, she was still waiting for this comprehension to enter her wracked mentality. It was a painfully familiar conversation.

"Winry? Are you going to eat?" Pinako asked, motioning towards an untouched plate of sliced meat. To ask anything else would have been foolish, for she caught on to what her granddaughter was probably musing about, and preferred not to bring up the subject herself. It was grating on the elder woman's mind just as it was Winry's.

"... Maybe later. I'm not all that hungry," The young girl replied, pushing the plate away. "Is that okay?"

"Suit yourself. Just make sure you _do._ The last thing I need is to have to worry about you, too."

Maybe it was a blessing that a timid knocking resounded from the old wooden door, as long as it created diversion from the heart-wrenching conversation that would have been sure to follow. Silently, Winry gave a sharp nod before leaving her place at the table, heading over towards the doorway and pushing it open tentatively.

And, just maybe, there _was_ a God.

- - -

I didn't die! Ohnoez!

I mean... wait, yeah. Yay?

_In the portion that focuses on Winry, is it clear that her visit to HQ happened before she was brought home? If it's not clear that that's more of a flashback, I'll go back and put it in italics. Just let me know, okay? I don't want to confuse anyone!_

**Syolen: **Don't worry, I'll finish this one way or another. I've made it my goal, even if it kills me. D:

**Pink Pagoda: **Thank you! Angst is addicting, and I tend to torture the characters I love most. I'm such a bad person, huh?

**S J Smith: **If I was him, I'd totally do the same thing. Except it'd probably be a hailstorm or hurricane, but that's not the point. I know what you're saying, and, well, I did incorporate that up there. It couldn't possibly be Hughes, however, because around this time (if I recall correctly), he was looking into stuff about the homunculi. And, after that... D: Regardless, thank you for the review! nn

**Shadewolf7: **Is that... a bad wow, or... a good one? D: If it's bad, I'm sorry.

**Shandrial: **Like I said, angst is really, _really_ addictive. I'm glad you liked it so far! And, no, the wait was not so much about the reviews as it was things going on here and possible ADD. I won't go into it, because nobody's here to read about me whine, they're here to read a story. I apologize, take responsibility, and will try to be better about it in the future. ( But I won't _promise_, I don't want to be a liar. ): )

Ewwie, is my esteem problem really that obvious? D: I'm sorry! No, it's definitely something I want to do. It's an idea that hit me and it's not goin' away. Thanks for the review. ( Seeing it in my email actually helped remind me to stop doodling on my homework and finish this chaper already. )


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